The Doorway

By Lyn Murphy

Sometimes the line between fact and fantasy becomes distorted and blurred. How do we determine on which side of that line our perceptions belong? Are we really seeing the things we believe we are seeing - or are we in fact, truly insane?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lyn Murphy
• Release date: Jul 18, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466101869

Lyn Murphy

I live on the Redcliffe Peninsula, Queensland, with my husband, Peter, and our little green-cheeked Conure (Parrot) Paddy.I've always loved to write - whether it be journal entries, articles or short stories. How fortunate I am to live in this age of the internet; of sites like Blogger and, of course, Smashwords; all of which give me the opportunity to gain an audience and to meet with others who share my passion.

Book preview

The Doorway

By

Lyn Murphy

Smashwords Edition

******

Published by

Lyn Murphy on Smashwords

©2011 Lyn Murphy

This is a work of fiction. The characters and events in this story are the product of the author’s imagination. The psychiatric condition known as Schizotypical Personality Disorder is a genuine condition and the references are from a site called HealthGuideInfo.com.

Smashword Edition License notes

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter One

I love to sit here by the window when I’m working.

I’ll admit the garden outside may never win an award in a Home and Garden magazine. It’s just a haphazard collection of flower beds, sporting a mixture of all sorts of things that I’ve planted on a whim. There are lavender bushes and flowering ground covers; ornamental chilli bushes and a whole assortment of flowers and miniature shrubs that I either don’t know, or can’t remember, the names of. But it’s pretty and delicately fragrant and I love it.

There’s the wooden gazebo and a fish pond complete with a water feature, multi coloured goldfish and even some bright pink water lilies.

I’ve put in a bird bath and a platform on which I can leave little treats for the birds. Each time I take a break from whatever manuscript I happen to be proofreading at the time, I can look out there and remember that the world can still be a very beautiful place.

But today, when I look up, I see with annoyance that I have a visitor.

Is it the little girl I saw yesterday as she, and the woman I assume to be her mother, stood observing the removalists unload furniture and cart it into the house across from mine. She appears to be about ten years of age, a skinny little thing with a tangle of long, pale blonde hair that frizzes out around her head like a golden aura.

She is walking purposefully down the meandering pathway of paving stones, heading towards the gazebo at the side of my house. With an indignant cry, I am heading outside confront her.

Now my yard is completely enclosed. There is a high wooden fence to the rear and tall, slightly Gothic-looking metal railings at the front. Both gates, the one for foot traffic and the one across the driveway, are kept closed and latched. This should send a clear message - my yard is not a public thoroughfare. And yet this little miss doesn’t even have the good grace to be furtive about her trespass.

I burst out into the yard and stop short. It has taken me no more than a few seconds to make it from the dining room to my current spot at the corner of the house. The child should be right there in front of me, just a few feet away. But she isn’t. She is nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps she heard me coming and hid? The gazebo is semi enclosed to waist height with wooden lattice work. There is a seat inside, attached to the circular walls, and I’m thinking, if the girl lay down on the seat, it is possible I wouldn’t be able to see her in the shadow.

So I check, but she isn’t there.

Mystified, I complete a slow and careful circuit of my yard. I even extend my search to the rear of the house, where there is nothing but a square of lawn underneath my clothes line, and the still securely padlocked door into the garage, which affixes to the far wall of the house.

So I am now completely at a loss for an explanation. There is nothing – no plant or shrub or item of garden furniture that seems tall or wide enough to supply an adequate hiding place for a child of her size.

I also note are no trample marks or